Changing Fire
by Outro
Summary: What if Katniss and Peeta weren't forced back into the arena? But rather, were forced to watch two people they care about fight for their lives instead? Would there still be rebellion? AU. *Pairings listed inside*
1. The Seventyfifth Anniversary

So, I feel I should probably say some stuff about this story before I go confusing ya'll... It's partially inspired by the wonderful halfhope and her fic I Do, which I'm sure, many of you have read and, yeah, I'm a big fan. I myself am also going to do partial Catching Fire Re-write. I dunno, depending on where this goes/the general response to it, I may or may not go into Mockingjay as well. Or alternatively, I may just be like, _fuck this shit _and go back to lurking.

Yeh. Uh, I guess pairings that will be featured; Heavy Katniss/Peeta & Madge/Gale, Finnick/Annie, and slight Prim/Rory, Katniss/Gale. And Haymitch, lots and lots of Haymitch. Just because I can.

SO BASCIALLY, Everything is the same/proceed as normal, until the Quarter Quell is announced. Which is where we get into the eeeky-freeky alternate dimension series-fuckery territory. Wooo. Yeah. So.

Without further ado...

* * *

**_Changing Fire_**

I

The Seventy-fifth Anniversary

….

_POV; Katniss_

"As we now honour our third Quarter Quell," The President announces with his hands hovering over the box full of yellow envelopes. Next to me I feel Prim shift in her seat to press closer into my side. Whatever comes out of that box will effect her more than all of us, and now, having won my own games, I'm prohibited from volunteering again.

Watching Snow, I see in his profile the outline of his grotesque lips and the rose at his lapel, standing out in stark contrast to his trim expensive suit. It takes all my willpower not to gag as my memory conjures up the smell, sickly sweet and artificial, as though it still clings to the house, like a persistent disease, despite the fact that months that have passed since his last visit. His threat against Gale's life hangs over my head, implicit in that threat is the promise to hurt others should I fail.

Which I have.

Involuntarily my arms tighten around Prim as pale fingers slip into the box and withdraw an envelope clearly marked 75. There are dozens of them there; centuries of Hunger Games.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," President Snow announces in his silken voice, "As a reminder to the rebels that even the most successful among them cannot overcome the might of the Capitol, the tributes this Quarter Quell will be only reaped from a pool of the wealthiest families in the districts."

Mother gasps and her fingers squeeze my shoulder, I barely notice it. My insides feel frozen and my lungs non-functional as I contemplate the very real possibility of Prim being reaped again.

Because who is wealthier than the family of District 12's shiny new victor?

...

_POV; Gale _

They're airing it just as I walk through the door, covered in coal dust and my back is fucking killing me. Right now there's nothing more I want to do than live out the fantasy that has been the only thing sustaining me through today, by hunting down Peeta- _cheesy buns _-Mellark and ringing his pale ass neck.

But when Posy comes rushing up to me, looking at me with _that face, _the one where she's smiling and laughing so hard I surprised she doesn't hurt herself. As though the highlight of her day is me walking through that door and all murderous thoughts are pushed aside – for the moment – as I scoop her up in my arms.

"G-Gale! Pu'me d-down!" She shrieks in-between giggles when I flip her over and carry her on my shoulder into the living room. She weighs practically nothing. Her body is thin, thinner than a four year olds should be and the information causes something inside me twists painfully. Because it's _my_ job to look after her. My job to make sure she doesn't starve. And I can't. "Put you down huh?" I say forcing cheer into my voice, letting go of her legs just briefly so she slides a little down my back. She squeals and laughs until I set her down properly.

"You never drop her," Vick complains with a sulky look, "Just once, I'd like to see you drop her."

"I'll drop you," I lunge forward to cuff him gently upside the head, which the little shit dodges with a gap toothed grin and then trips, over nothing, and falls on his ass. Which he seems to find hilarious. The Kid lost two teeth yesterday.

When he ran into the door.

As blind as a bat, I swear.

"Special Broadcast tonight," Ma tells me as I set my helmet down on the dresser. In other-words; Wedding news. I grunt something unintelligible, trying without success to massage a feeling other than pain into my shoulders. Work was no picnic before I got my back whipped to ribbons, but now it's near on unbearable.

I say nothing about it though and ignore Ma's concerned gaze, partially because no one likes a whiny bitch, but also because there's not all that much anyone can do about it.

No point in burdening her with my problems.

Sure enough, a quick glance at the television shows a picture of Katniss in a dress, the sound of the Capitol crowd going nuts in the background. Great. There isn't a number big enough to count the the list of things I would rather be doing than watching this shit.

Sticking my head in a vat of boiling oil for example.

But if I'm going to be miserable, I might as well do it in comfort.

"Move it or loose it kid," I say, nudging Rory out of possibly the most comfortable chair ever made, a thread bare old recliner that is older than I am.

"I was here first," He complains, wiggling around like he's trying to physically infuse his body to the upholstery.

"Actually, technically speaking, _I_ was." I reply, reaching down to grab his collar and haul him out of it as he yaps at me. Complaining to Ma. Wuss. Depositing him in a heap on the floor I drop into the chair. The springs screech under my weight and the whole frame of the thing shudders. The loose spring presses into my back at just the right place. Ah. Yeah. That hits the spot.

Rory is looking at me like I just drowned a litter of kittens and made him watch. Man. "It's_ my_ chair." I snap irritably, because I hate it when he looks at me like that.

"It's _Dad's _chair." He corrects and then stalks over and plonks himself down on the other side of the room.

"Not like he's around to claim it." I mutter under my breath and then flinch as Ma wacks me upside the head.

"Be nice," She warns with that stern '_fuck with me at your own risk'_ look that she's perfected over the last nineteen years.

I open my mouth, but the lecture on having sympathy for the poor bastard who works 12 hours a day dies in my mouth when she raises The Spoon in her hand threateningly.

"Alright, _alright_. Sorry, won't happen again." I huff as insincerely as possibly, holding up an arm in case she does intend to go through with the threat.

The woman hits harder than I do.

Posy then starts tugging at my sleeve as she claws her way into her lap, curling up against my chest.

"Don't be m-m-mad, Gale." She murmurs with that little stutter of hers, "D-don't like it when you g-g-get mad."

Which makes me far more remorseful than Ma beating the shit out of me with The Spoon ever could.

"Sorry Baby," I murmur and plant a kiss on her head.

"Sucker," Rory coughs into his hand.

"Thin Ice, Kid" I reply as calmly as possible. Since I'm still ready to kill the rat for taking out that Tesserae behind my back.

He gives me the finger. Yeah, he thinks he's tough shit when Ma's back is turned.

But I'm prevented from retaliating when the word '_Tributes_' float up from our little television and commands my attention. I frown, because the games are months away.

"They're probably reading the card." Ma says, and then at my nonplussed look adds, "For the Quell."

Oh right. Yeah. The fucking Quarter Quell. My gaze darts to Rory who stares at the television intently. Something in my gut clenches. Whatever sick twist they put on the games this year, he could face it.

And the thought scares the shit out of me.

I listen as President Snow the man who threatened to have me killed personally. Which can only mean I'm doing something right. - How many people here can say that the President himself wants them dead? Possible only one. Catnip. And the thought nearly chokes me with rage – recounts the last three Quells. Which makes me glad that I lived through none of them.

Ma would have though, Dad too.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary-" The President drawls, his hand dipping in to pull out an envelope, and every muscle in my body tenses to the point where it's painful, "- As a reminder to the rebels that even the most successful among them cannot overcome the might of the Capitol, the tributes this Quarter Quell will be reaped from a pool of the wealthiest families in the districts."

I let out a long breath through my nose. Some good luck at last.

And for the first time in my life, I'm glad we're poor.

…

_POV; Madge_

"Cocoa Miss Margaret?" Hannah asks as she bustles through the door holding a tray. A round woman of sixty five with curly grey hair atop a face like a rotten apple, all soft with wrinkles and a home knitted blue shawl around her shoulders; there is word to describe Hannah other than than _Grandmotherly_. It's almost comical actually, she looks like she should live in a gingerbread house, you know, sans the cannibalism and witchery.

"Yes, thank you." I say putting down my book, since the strawberry industry around here has sort of dried up I've been forced to assuage my sweet tooth with chocolate and various other threats that shoot straight to my thighs, and don't even get me started on my hips. One day my arteries are just going to explode.

A delicious travesty, but a travesty none the less.

I smile up at her, smoothing out the blanket over my knees as she places the tray with the mug of steaming liquid culinary gold and those cute little marshmallows that we can sometimes get in from the Capitol. Yum.

"Special broadcast on tonight Miss," She says, motioning for me to lean forward so she can fluff my pillows. No can quite fluff pillows like Hannah, it's a gift.

"The President is going to read the card," I reply, reaching over for the remote to my television to flick through the channels to the appropriate one. "For the Quell."

"Ah, so he is. I guess that would be why the Missus is-" She jerks a stubby thumb to the floor upstairs.

_Comatose and lying in a puddle of her own tears and saliva you mean?_ I want to say but don't.

Though there must be something in my face that reflects my internal bitching session because, Hannah, who is normally at a loath to break the line of appropriate employer/employee conduct leans over and smooths back my hair in a tender way. "Never mind it now Miss." She says kindly. "You're Pap should be home soon. Said he'd be home for the broadcast didn't he?"

Doubtful. Something always comes up, some earth shattering emergency in the mines perhaps, the incorrect wages have been distributed, the tesserae grain has come in spoiled, or one thousand other miscellaneous things that happen to be more important than whatever is it he promised to be here for.

My birthday, three years running, for instance.

I make some vague noise that could pass for agreement to her statement as she bustles her way back out the door.

I wallow a little then, in my own self-pity which is soon beat out by a slight inferiority complex when they start showing pictures of Katniss in the dresses designed for her wedding. She looks beautiful in all of them, the Capitol gets to vote on everything, of course. I like the fourth one myself, the one with the pearls. But the others are just lovely. Nearly an hour and a half passes and then Caesar Flickermans demonic face is telling Panem to stay tuned for the other 'big event'.

Passing over my earlier bitterness, I am glad Mother is not able to watch this.

And then President is on the stage, a boy in white holding up a box as he draws out this years envelope, which reads;

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the most successful among them cannot overcome the might of the Capitol, the tributes this Quarter Quell will be reaped from a pool of the wealthiest families in the districts."

I stare at the television for several long moments as I wait for my heart to remember it's job and start beating again, at which point I take a sip of my cocoa.

It has gone cold.

Darn.

….

An; I wonder who will be going into the Quell. ^_^ Oh. And I make Gale swear. I know he doesn't in the books, but in my mind he does. And aw.

I borrowed a few phrases from the actual book. So all that you recognise, © the mighty S.C

Would you like to read more?


	2. Fear the Reaper

**Changing Fire**

II

Fear the Reaper

...

_POV; Madge_

The weeks leading up to today have been tense, especially in the high societal ranks of District 12. People normally content to watch the Capitols tyranny reflected in the hallow cheeks of starving dark haired children and the blood stains under the whipping post now mutter mutiny under their breath. Those same previously law abiding citizens join the criminal element in casting narrowed, untrusted glances at the peacekeepers that crowd our streets. Often these days Blonde hair breaks up the uniformity of the dark heads strapped into the stocks

All because people who have never had to be overly concerned about the reaping, not against seam kids with forty plus entries, courtesy of the tesserea, are worried.

Including me.

At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if we have a rebellion on our hands in the next few months.

Especially if Primrose is reaped.

Which is the current theory, muttered in hushed whispers as people glance over their shoulders, that the President purposely altered the envelope so it would give Katniss Everdeen's little sister more chance to be picked; two years running. Only this year, Katniss can't save her.

Which is completely ridiculous of course. If President Snow wanted Primrose picked, he'd simply have our Districts reaping rigged. I suspect that's what happens in other districts, with Victors who actually have children and families. It happens too often to be purely coincidental.

I keep these thoughts to myself of course. Being whipped until you pass out or locked up for days really doesn't seem all that pleasant in my opinion.

Katniss, I think, is convinced of the inevitability of her sister being chosen, although she hasn't said as much to me (admittedly the Mayors daughter probably isn't the person you'd confide your treasonous thoughts too. But then at the same time, where's the trust?). She and her sister go for brisk runs daily and often I've seen her "cousin" and Peeta (though never at the same time. I can't see them being all too fond of each other, somehow) with Primrose, presumably helping to train her up as well.

Mother, after hearing the news, cried for days. She's certain that it'll be me this year and takes twice the amount of medicine she normally does. Actually, she's degenerated so far into the realm of fantasy that she only calls me by my aunts name and has no idea who my father is. Most of the time, if I'm not too tired, I play into her hallucinations; it seems to make her happy and it doesn't cost me anything.

I only see Father about three times a week now, discounting the odd glimpse of his back as he disappears into his study. He's got a lot on his plate, calming some of the more reckless merchants whose children now suddenly are faced with the very real chance of being picked, before they do anything rash. I wonder if it's crossed his mind that I might be chosen. Perhaps he thinks being the Mayors daughter is enough to safe guard me against it. Perhaps he's gotten assurances from the President that I won't be in danger.

I'm sort of placing all my bets down on those cards to be honest.

...

_POV; Katniss_

Reaping day is unseasonably warm, muggy and uncomfortable. It ferments the blood stains under the whipping post, that no one bothers to clean these days because it's used so frequently. Every time I pass the murky brown stains I can't help but wonder how much of it belongs to Gale.

Already the square is prepared for the Reaping, machine guns observe the crowd as people begin to assemble around the roped off area's. Camera's are placed along the top of the Justice Building, jutting back and fourth, following certain people as they mingle. Several are fixed on me as I stand at the edge, clutching Prims hand with Mother on my left and Peeta trailing just slightly behind us.

Haymitch is no where to be found, probably drunk already.

As my eyes scan the crowd, pretending I don't see Effie as she waves to me from the podium and pass over the small sea of wheat that is the heads of every Merchant child in the district, I pick out a familiar face making her way towards us.

Madge.

She's dressed in almost the exact same outfit as she was last reaping, minus her Pin. Which is at the moment packed with the luggage I will be taking to the Capitol. Where I will be going for the first time as a mentor.

I haven't allowed myself to dwell much on the prospect - assuming Prim isn't reaped again - of sending two children to their deaths each year for the rest of my life. I wonder though, eventually what that will turn me into. A drunk like Haymitch? Or something worse.

"Hello there," Madge says, lips twitching into the barest smile, moving forward to give each of us a hug and light kiss on the cheek as we all murmur our greetings. Last year, Madge had been among the least likely to get reaped, and now being 17 and among children like herself who have never needed to take out tesserea she's, statistically at least, one of more likely.

But then, as Mayors daughter, I suspect she's about as safe as you get get in a reaping.

"Hey," Peeta says, sensing probably that I'm not in the mood for chatter. "Nice weather for it, don't you think?"

"If by nice you mean humid and miserable, then yes," She replies with a roll of her eyes, "It's lovely. I don't fancy standing in those ropes, crushed in with everyone else. It's going to smell like-"

She's cut off then, by a scuffle happen a few meters down from us. I immediately recognise Gale, with two peacekeepers on each side of him a third standing just a little ways off. A tall man whom I barely recognise without a whip in his hand; Thread as he picks Rory bodily up off the ground.

What...?

"Hey! _Hey!_" Gale is yelling, "Take your filthy fucking hands off-" At which point one of the Peacekeepers sinks his fist into Gale's stomach, twice, while the other holds back his arms. He grunts in pain as he drops to the ground. Behind them, Posy, who doesn't really understand what's going on, clings to Hazelle and cries.

I don't even realised I've moved until I'm standing before them, yelling and trying to push my way through the peacekeepers to get to Gale. Peeta too, is at my side.

"What is this?" He demands in a harsh authoritative voice, one that doesn't sound like the Peeta I know at all. "Let the kid down, you've obviously made a mistake, he's not part of the reaping this year."

Thread's mouth lifts up in a small malicious smile, and doesn't let go of Rory. Who's stare is alternating between Gale on his knees on the ground – a look of horror and concern – and Thread, with a look of hatred that is all the more startling on his young face.

"He's on the list." Thread replies indifferently, using the hand not holding Rory to gesture to a woman, from the Capitol by the looks of her, who saunters over and shoves her clipboard under my nose.

And there sure enough, is Rory's name, smack dab in the middle of the list of Twelve years boys.

"There's got to be some mistake." I get out, as a sickly knot of dread settles in my stomach. "He can't be on there. He's not supposed to-"

"He's _your _cousin, is he not?" Thread shoots to me and I feel like I'm seeing Gale whipped all over again. Who I can't even look at but_, whose eyes I can feel burning_ _into me_ as the Peacekeepers let him go with a shove and a warning that n_ext time he'll be in the stocks or worse._ The only reason this is just a threat and not a reality is because of the live camera's. It wouldn't do to have the Capitol citizens to see anyone being punished for even the slightest show of rebellion. As far as they know, no one in the Districts is even capable of it. Hazelle has enough sense to quickly deposit a crying Posy into Gale's arms, to stop him for doing something rash.

Because there's only one reason Snow would go to such pains to get Rory on that list. And it's because of me.

Prim and Rory. I can't even... the thought is so repulsive that I actually have to swallow down the bile that rises to my throat as I watch Thread drag Rory away. Gale, whose expression actually frightens me, cradles Posy to him and can't even speak.

And all I can think is that there has to be some way out of this. Haymitch, assuming he's sober, would know. Dimly I feel Peeta grip my elbow, but I shrug it roughly out of his grip. I don't deserve comfort, not from him, not from anyone. It would have been better if I had died in the arena myself.

"That boy, he shouldn't be.." A quiet voice from behind me trails off. Madge, her eyes narrowed, as she puts the pieces together. "... Perhaps I can talk to my father. Maybe he can-"

"_Be as fucking useless as he's always been_." Gale snarls at her, which brings a fresh wave of hysterics from Posy. Madge blinks and takes hasty a step back, away from him before turning to disappear into the crowd, quietly wishing Prim good luck and squeezing my arm as she goes.

Somewhere from behind us they are calling for everyone to hurry to their places. Which means Peeta and I, Haymitch too, assuming he isn't passed out in a puddle of his own vomit in his house, up the front. On the podium. A first class view of this entire event. The thought sends tendrils of revulsion coursing through me. Now, especially, that Prim and Rory are in very real danger.

"Gale.." I hedge cautiously, preparing to say... what exactly? I have no idea. Only that I should say something.

"Just leave it Catnip," He replies in a voice rough with emotion. Anger of course, but also something that I don't think I've ever see him display, at least not this openly; _Fear._

Fear on someone as fearless as Gale is a scary thing in itself.

I nod, hesitantly reach out to touch his arm, fulling expecting him to shrug me off. But he doesn't, and then I'm following Peeta through the crowd, Prim trailing behind me and clutching my hand so tight it actually hurts.

...

_POV; Madge_

I was right. Before. Inside the ropes smells the lovely combination of poor personal hygiene and sweat with a side helping of stale perfume and fear, all fermenting and mingling together due to the heat.

Which is always nice.

Everything is silent inside the ropes as Pappa reads out the Treaty of Treason, no one feels particularly chatty on reaping day. Immediately clustered around us, are the worried faces of the parents. And behind them, a larger crowd than normal, comprised of the lower income earners in the District. Whose faces aren't tight with worry and some even talk quietly behind their hands to each other. And I find it odd, because for possibly the first time _ever_, teenagers and those whose ages would normally require them to be in here, sweating it out (in the literal sense) with the rest of us, get to stand outside with them and watch.

I'd have to say that most of them look a bit smug. Malnourished and tired, but still smug. Compassion for your fellow man being not so high here in District 12. Or infact, anywhere in Panem.

I let my gaze wonder over the crowd as Pappa introduces the current victors. Someone has coaxed Mr Abernathy, possibly at knife point, to the stage. He's drunk though, the large vomit stain on his shirt, is a bit of a give away. Figures. Katniss sits next to him, the only indicator that she is effected at all by the fact that her sister might – probably, according to some – be reaped, is her skin has a ashy pallor to it. Other than that, she looks, if anything bored. Peeta sits next to her, eyes flickering to Katniss every few seconds with concern. I stifle a yawn as Effie Trinket is called up to the podium, sporting a metallic gold wig.

Yes, Because like that's her natural hair colour.

"Happy Hunger Games," She chirps with a smile so wide that she's either liable to break her face or wet herself with all the excitement. Now that, would be entertainment. "And may the odds-"

"-Be ever in your favour." I, and about twenty others, finish under our breath.

Sliding past her as she makes her way to the glass ball, my gaze works it way to the other side of the crowd, lingering briefly over a few familiar faces, inexplicably landing on one. Completely unintentionally do I catch his gaze. Cold, hard, unforgiving, grey eyes.

_Jerk. _

"Ladies first," Effie trills, as she always does, before her hand dips into the ball.

...

_POV; Katniss._

I don't even realise how hard I'm clutching the chair as Effie's hand dips into that ball until I feel Peeta's hand, rough with burn marks and very warm, gently prise my fingers from the arm rest and to squeeze them reassuringly. Murmuring something comforting in my ear. I'm not listening, all I'm thinking is; _Not her, not Prim, please no..._

The name is called...

...And it's not Primrose Everdeen.

….

_POV; Gale_

Green eyes. For some reason, that's what I'm thinking. Not blue, like Prim or that gimpy prick Mellark.

And then her name is called. People murmur and gasp. The Mayors daughter being reaped surprises everyone.

Guess her Daddy is fucking useless after all.

...

A/n:

Yeah. Surprise, surprise. Anyways. Uh. I know, perhaps the Drama with Gale getting all up in Threads face, is probably just a tad over the top. But I figured we need a little action in here, since it's mostly just exposition and plot stuff. And yeah, I know Peeta is just cruisin' the background for now, but never fret for there will be Katniss/Peeta love. And lots of Gale angst, if you can guess who the other tribute will be. Lawl. Subtlety isn't really my thing. -.-' Nor, is proof reading. Just so you know.

Anyways,

Shout out to **blainesflames, **who commented on Madge's cocoa sipping badassery (of which, there will be more.) And **Fanpire4000** , I apologies for there not being much of our favourite cheesy bun making stud, but as I said, don't fret. :) He'll be around.

Review? Tell me what you think, even if it's just to leave a gigantic flame about how much e-dick I suck and how this should burn, because Catching Fire was perfect and _why are you just ruining it?_ …

...or something. :)


	3. Equinox

**Changing Fire**

_III_

Equinox

_POV; Madge_

There's a moment of a warped kind of unity in the district as she pulls out that small strip of paper. Because everyone is thinking the same thing; Everyone is hoping it's not them.

It feels like an eternity as Effie takes the time to process the name written in front of her. Behind my back both my fingers are crossed tightly and all I'm thinking is; _Not me, please let it not be-_

And then the name is called.

"Margaret_ Undersee._"

And it's... Mine?

Around me people shift away immediately, as though being reaped is contagious. _And thanks for the support there, girls. It's appreciated._ There seems to be whispers all around me as I shakily mount the stage. I don't ever recall the other reapings being this loud. Or perhaps they were, and I never much noticed the talking before, because it was never actually about me.

My face feels hot and cold all at the same time and I feel the prickle of tears at the back of my eyes when Effie Trinket asks for volunteers and is met with silence. Because who would volunteer for me?

No one, that's who.

...

_POV; Gale_

_"Well if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" _

These are the words that reverberate in my mind as I watch this girl mount the stage. Fuck, she's small. Even having been well fed her entire life and with a body curved in all the right places she looks smaller even than Catnip did. My memory of Katniss standing up there, looking fierce and fearless as hell is about as far opposite of the image the Mayors daughter presents, looking delicate and fragile with her almost translucent pale skin, as she visibly trembles with fear.

Can't really blame her.

Hell, last year I was half convinced that Catnip, with all her strength and skill was going to die. And now here's the Mayors daughter, who actually will die, and I can't help but think the one thing she's got going for is she's obviously not stupid enough to think she can win.

Ultimately though, I feel like bastard for yelling at her.

….

POV; Peeta.

And next to me Katniss exhales a breath of relief, and I know only it's because she's only heard that the name that has been called is not Prims. And then I feel her tense up like a coil when she turns her head and sees that it's Madge mounting the stage.

Her hand, soft but strong grips mine. Hard. Harder. I run my fingers over her knuckles, anything to make this easier for her.

Next to me, Haymich's hand drops down to behind his chair, pulls a bottle apparently out of nowhere and takes a long pull.

Today is going to be a long day.

…

_POV; Madge _

The sea of quietly relieved faces swims in my vision as tears pool in my eyes. Some part of me deep down is acknowledging the fact that I should remain strong, since the other tributes are going to watch this and mark me out as a weakling. And easy kill.

Which, lets face it, is pretty much the truth.

I see no reason to hide this fact, there are many things that I am, but an idiot is not one of them. I know I won't be coming back here. Ever. So, to hell with the Capitol and their stupid games, I'm going to cry all I want. Because at this point, what does it really matter?

Effie announces me as the Mayors Daughter. Blithely chirping, about what lucky it is, to have someone like me in the games this year. Quietly, through my tears, I entertain the fantasy of scratching her eyes out.

It's highly satisfying.

And then she's up at the podium, clawing around in search of the boys name, but I don't care, with my luck it'll be someone like Tray Thompson, who's biceps are as big as my head, or Grant Middleton who, since Miche Mellark graduated and Peeta no longer needs to go to school, is the schools wrestling champion.

But no. None of these names are the ones she reads out. It's even worse. The first name I don't recognise, the last name however, is unmistakeable._ Hawthorne_. And I want to laugh at the pure irony of it and cry (more so) all at the same time.

I wipe tears from my eyes so I can get a good look at the kid as he mounts the stage. Dark hair in dire need of a cut, very tall for his age, taller than me (though, admittedly, that's not exactly an achievement) with the same olive skin and the same suspicious grey eyes; the boy has seam written all over him, he is his brother in miniature with a chin that tilted up challengingly, trying not to look as pants wettlingly scared as he feels. He's doing a stellar job too, if only it weren't for the slight tremor of his hands.

Behind me, I hear someone make the slightest noise. Katniss, possibly.

And then my father is standing and reading the treaty of treason, his voice is steady but his hands shake as they turn the pages. I know deep, deep down that this will ruin him. Mother won't be able to survive this, not twice, so essentially after my death he'll have lost his entire family. Part of me feels awful, however, it's mostly overshadowed by the part reminding me that for this to come to pass, I'll have to die.

And then suddenly we're being told to shake hands, and I think at least someone here has got it worse than me. I mean I've had a relatively happy... well, content life so far. I haven't, for instance, been starved since birth, my father is alive and nor do I have the misfortune to have a brother who is, well to be frank, a total jerk. So this is probably why when I shake the boys hand I attempt something in the way of a reassuring squeeze and a smile.

His face takes on a startled expression and barely has time to respond before we are being whisked off the podium and into the Justice building.

...

POV; Katniss.

We're taken to those same two lushly furnished rooms Peeta and I were allocated last year. Only this year it's not me being sentence to my death – yet, and I can't help but realise how good I had it. Last year, being half-convinced I wouldn't make it home, I was able to focus on myself. How_ I_ was feeling, what _my_ chances were, how _I_ was going to survive. But now? Now it's all about the survival of others. Which makes it about ten times worse.

We're required to wait in a narrow hallway, one with a door at each end each guarded by a pair of peacekeepers, before we're allowed in to see Rory. Hazelle, Gale, the kids, my mother, Prim, Rory, Peeta and I wait, crammed into one end while at the other the Mayor sits quietly with his head in his hands. I wonder briefly if Madge's mother really is that sick, to be unable to see her own daughter off after being reaped.

Because there are so many of us the Peacekeepers attempt to call Rorys immediate family in first, to which I'm quick to argue, that, at least according to their records, we're all immediate family. Gale, my mother and Hazelle back me up on this and in the end Peeta is the only one refused entry.

…

POV; Madge

I don't expect many visitors, and in truth, I'm not dissapointed. Pappa is the first in, he sits awkwardly on the end of the lounge. His are eyes dark and red around the edges, he forces a smile on his face and clasps my hand. "Don't worry Poppet, It'll be fine. It'll all just be fine." And pats my hand like I'm six again and Fluffy my cat, has just died and I don't really understand where she's gone.

Only this time, I'm not the one labouring under delusions.

There's a moment of thick silence. "Pappa," I begin in slow measured tones, "You must know, I'm not going to be coming back."

He opens his mouth, I think, so say something reassuring to me.

And then bursts into tears.

….

POV; Gale

Twelve. Too young, he's too fucking young. Ma and the other kids go to him first, while Catnip, Mrs E and I linger just a little way away. Katniss makes a sound in the back of her throat when we see Prim, teary eyed and pale, lean forward and plant one right on Rorys lips before making him _promise, _pinky swear even,to do his hardest to come back. Any other time I'd be ribbing him about it, his very first kiss from little Primrose of all people, but all I can do is think and try to convince myself he has a chance. He's got strengths. For one, the kid is smart. A hell of a lot smarter than me that's for sure, good with words, reading and shit like that. I was hoping, that maybe when he was older he'd be able to get a job in town or something, rather than the mines, you know?

Plus, I've taken him out, on the Sundays that Katniss was on the victory tour, he can shoot. A little. And guilt twists in my gut because I could have done more, taught him so much more. If I hadn't been too busty with... I push those thoughts down and away, for after he leaves. I don't want the kid to see me pissed, not now. He doesn't need it.

And, I remind myself, he knows the snares... and Dad took him out too, when he took me out. Back before he died. Rory was only eight. Just a kid. Happily trailing Dad around without really paying attention. Physically he's big for his age, tall and wry, like I was. All arms and legs. And...

...And he's just a fucking kid. What chance does he have? Against people almost twice his age who have been training for this their entire lives?

_None at all_, that tiny realistic part of my brain whispers.

…

POV; Katniss

When Prim kisses Rory I have to look away, I can't helpt it, she's just thirteen. To young to be having those sorts of... _feelings_. Even for Rory, who is possibly the only person in the world worthy to recieve the affections of someone like my sister. Gale goes to him after Hazelle starts pulling a crying Posy and Vick away, Prim and my mother following them out the door.

Rory, who has been doing well not to cry, up until this point. Takes one look, lets Gale pull him into his arms and starts crying. He only lets himself do it before a few minutes before he's pushing himself away and wiping his eyes. Gale starts then, pouring out information, quickly and effiently. Reminding this brother of the tricks to some of his snares. To account for wind speed when shooting, if he can get his hands on a bow. Stay _away_ from the cornucopia. Get a knife as soon as he can. I step up at this point too, putting my own opinions. Reassuring him I'm going to be there, every second he's in arena I'm going to watching, looking out for him. Rory nods solemnly with absolute trust in his eyes and then it's my turn, as his lanky arms wrap around my torso as he mumbles a thanks into my shirt, and there's not much that I can do but hold him and privately hope I don't fail.

And hate myself too, because I can only bring one home. And I know already, that I'm going to try and make it Rory.

POV; Madge

Pappa and I don't say much and then when the hour is up the peacekeepers are telling him to leave. And he does, hugging me hard and apologising for not being around, for not being the parent I deserve. Which I hate because this is not what I need now, I need someone strong, so I can be the one to sob hysterically. But that doesn't really work when there's no one to tell you every-thing's going to be okay.

And then the door opens for my second visitor, and for some reason I feel a keen sense of stinging dissapointment, when it's Peeta who ambles through and not Katniss. But then I guess it's to be expected. There's only one of us they can bring back and I'm not stupid enough to think I'm the person she's going to be really trying hard to keep alive.

"Hey, Madge." Peeta says in that kind voice of his, taking a seat opposite me. A part of me is quietly glad it's Peeta that has come. I've known him since I could toddle, he's been to all my birthday parties. Shared his crayons with me when mine broke, when I was little. We had nap time in kindergarten together.

"Come to give some advice Mentor?" I ask, although my intent was for the words to be teasing, they come out sullen and sarcastic.

He shrugs, "Only if you want to hear some."

"You know, actually..." I consider it, and change my mind. "..No. I'll be playing the games as soon as I leave this room. For now, I'd just like..." _A friend_. But like my father, I burst into tears before I get the words out.

Peeta seems to understand though.

….

POV; Katniss

All too soon the Peacekeepers are telling us that time's is up. Rory gets in one last kiss and hugs from everyone before they are whisking us out the door into the hall. We're informed by some faceless capitol attendant that Peeta and I have our own cars waiting to taxi us to the train. Haymitch apparently is already there. There's the small 'snick' of a door being closed and I see Peeta ease his way out of Madge's tribute room. Catching his eye I jerk my head to her door. Wondering how she's doing

He shrugs, his mouth tipped down at the corner. Which I interpret to mean, '_Not good_' His eyes then flicker to something over my shoulder and then he turns away, to say his goodbyes to my mother and Prim. I don't even need to think about who it is as I feel the heat of his body on the back of my neck, his hand curls around my arm to spin me forward. Gale. Grey eyes, so much like mine, bore into me. My skin feels like it's burning. "Bring him back Catni, please, just.. don't let them take him. Okay?" His hands clutch my arm hard enough to bruise.

Somewhere an attendant is calling for us to hurry.

I lick suddenly dry lips and my throat feels as though I have been chewing sawdust. And I know, deep, deep down I shouldn't make this promise. But I have no choice. "Okay."

He nods.

And then suddenly we're being whisked out of the justice building, into the cars and then onto the tribute train. Peeta holds my hand the entire way. And we're lucky that this year we don't have to suffer through the media circus. They do however, provide us a screen on which we get to watch our tributes as they pause for the camera's. Haymitch is here, drunker than I've ever seen him. Which is saying something. He salutes me with a three quarters empty bottle. "Guess the odds aren't in your favour, eh Sweetheart?" He tells me and then laughs.

It takes all my self control, and the fact that Peeta won't let go of my hand when I tug on it, not to slap him.

….

A/n: Eugh. Yeah. So dun, dun. This is mostly just boring stuff, until I get into the real action. Which will be the games. And why Gale gets up to, all alone in D12, and Katniss and Peeta.

So, uh, yeah, have I got the characters down do you think?


End file.
